


Let's Get Down To Business

by amathela



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Gen, Office Party, Pre-Canon, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/pseuds/amathela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first thing Anders ever says to Dawn is, "Your place or mine?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Get Down To Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brilligspoons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/gifts).



The first thing Anders ever says to Dawn is, "Your place or mine?"

They're at a not-strictly-a-work-function, some party with too-bright lighting and indistinguishable men in suits that Dawn's only at because it's supposedly a 'great networking opportunity,' whatever that's supposed to mean for a temp. So far, she hasn't even met anybody who works in her industry - or, more accurately, the industry she's trying to break into - let alone anybody who might actually be interested in offering her a job. Or an interview. A casual chat over a cup of coffee.

On the other hand, if she'd been looking for a singles mixer, she'd be doing _great_.

"Excuse me?" she asks, turning around slowly. It isn't the first time she's been hit on tonight, not by a long shot, but it is the most blatant, without even the pretense of 'coming back to see his office' or whatever other line these men seem to think she can't see right through.

She expects him to walk it back, to play it off like a joke, but instead he smiles, wide (and okay, wow, it's not a totally hideous smile) and says, "For all the sex we'll be having later."

Well, that's certainly new. Not so much a line as … well, as coming right out and asking her to have sex with him.

Or not asking, really. Telling her she's going to be having sex with him. She'd almost be impressed by his audacity, if she weren't so completely repulsed by it.

"I don't think so," she says, as professionally as she can manage. Not that it's likely to matter, but it makes her feel better, anyway.

His look of surprise is so comical it almost makes her laugh, and she wonders if he's putting it on, or if he genuinely is that shocked that she doesn't want to sleep with him. "Really?"

"Really," she says, desperately searching for someone, anyone, else to talk to. Which would probably be really useful, if she knew anyone else at this stupid thing.

"And you're sure about this?"

"Absolutely positive," she says, reaching for a glass of wine from a passing tray. It's cheap enough that she knows it's going to give her a headache in the morning, but it's alcoholic, and right now, that wins out. "If you don't mind -"

"Not at all," he says, and takes a step back, turns around to talk to one of the waitresses. Dawn's about to breathe a sigh of relief when suddenly he's back at her side, holding a bottle of wine, grabbing her glass and tipping it out on the floor.

"Hey!" she says, reflexively looking around to see if she's about to get in trouble. "I was drinking that."

"I'm doing you a favour, trust me," he says, uncorking the bottle and refilling her glass. "This is the good stuff."

"If you're trying to get me drunk -"

"Not at all," he says, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "Just thought you might appreciate something that doesn't smell like drain cleaner."

"I don't," she says, but takes a sip anyway. He's right; it is good.

"That's what I thought," he says, and she can't tell if he's mocking her or still trying to flirt with her. She suspects it might be both.

It's enough to make her need a drink. A lot of drinks. Or at least enough that, when he leans in closer and says, "You really want to come back to my office," she follows him.

-

She's at his desk when he wakes up, sorting papers into piles she's tentatively labelled 'trash' and 'burn,' looking mournfully at the anaemic-looking 'file' pile. If three documents and what she's pretty sure is a list of all his passwords can really be called a pile.

"What are you doing?" he asks, appearing at her shoulder before she even realises he's moved, and she jumps in her chair. His chair. Whatever. For someone so obvious in every other way, he's surprisingly stealthy.

"Your files are a mess," she says, slapping his hand away when he tries to move one of them from one pile to another. She hasn't spent all night doing this just to let him go and ruin it. "And I use that word very generously."

"You're filing," he says, pronouncing the word carefully, like it's totally unfamiliar to him. Which Dawn already knows, since she's seen his desk drawers.

"So you do know what it is."

"Yes. It's something less interesting people do."

She stops at that, letting the last file fall haphazardly onto the desk, half of it sliding onto the floor. She clenches her fists to stop herself from picking it up. "Thank you."

"Not what I meant," he says, leaning forward until she can see him in her peripheral vision. He looks surprisingly good, all things considered; smells good, not so much. "Besides, I've done you a favour. Nobody should be filing at - what time is it?"

"Six a.m."

"Seriously?" he asks. "Hell, nobody should be awake at six a.m. I'm beginning to think I didn't do my job properly last night."

"And what job was that?"

"I think you know," he says, sliding a hand down her arm, and - oh. Oh, no.

"No," she says, moving his hand. Forcefully. "You didn't. Because nothing happened."

He frowns as she turns around to face him. "Nothing happened, as in you didn't feel anything, or nothing happened, as in -"

"Literally nothing happened between us," she says. "I came here with you, for reasons I still can't quite figure out, you drank two bottles of wine by yourself, passed out, and I …"

"Started filing?"

"I was bored," she says. And too drunk to drive home, too poor to afford a taxi, and too full of self esteem to go back to the party. "And not at first. I just thought I'd tidy a little. I have no idea how you ever get any work done in here."

"Mostly, I don't."

"Well, that explains a lot."

"I like you," he says, suddenly smiling, and he barely even looks hungover any more. "You're spunky. And you know how to file. Come work for me."

"Excuse me?" she asks. That is definitely not where she thought this was going. "No."

"You can't say no," he says. "I'll never be able to figure out this filing system."

"It's called a garbage bin," she says. "And still no."

"Give me three reasons why not."

"Fine," she says, standing up. At least she has one advantage over him. "You're obnoxious, your entire business is a nightmare, and I only met you seven hours ago - when, in case you've forgotten, you hit on me and then tried to get me drunk."

"Excuse me," he says. "I tried to get me drunk. And succeeded, I might add."

"So you're a drunk as well," she says. "That's four."

"I'm a success," he says.

"Your bank statements indicate otherwise."

"I'm fun."

"Not my kind of fun."

"I'll double whatever you're making," he says. "Sign a contract for however long you want."

"That's …" Wow. Unexpected. Amazing. "That's an absolutely terrible way to run a business."

"I guess you'll just have to teach me a better way, then."

"Don't you already have a secretary?"

"Probably." He shrugs. "She's fired. And besides, you won't be my secretary. You'll be my personal assistant."

"I'm never going to sleep with you."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, though his grin says otherwise. "So what do you say?"

It's a terrible idea. A really, absolutely, completely terrible idea. For all she knows, he's going to be out of business in a week, and then where will she be?

She should say no. She has to say no.

"Yes," she says. "But I set my own hours."

"Deal."

"If you hit on me, I quit."

"Obviously."

"I already regret this."

"Don't," he says, slinging an arm over her shoulder. Yep, definitely regretting this. "I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship …"

"Dawn," she says, after a long pause. Because he's forgotten her name already. Fantastic.

She has absolutely no idea how this could ever go wrong.


End file.
